'I would like you to give him his liberty if he will promise to go away from our moor and never come back any more for five hundred years,' continued the child, who apparently had not noticed the interruption. 'If he does not keep his promise after he is set free, he will run the terrible risk of again being taken prisoner in the Magic Pail and having Daddy Trebisken's threat carried out upon him.'

'What threat?' asked Joan. 'Aw, I remember now--his being put into a hoggan for my Tom's dinner. He is too bad for my good Tom to make a meal of,' shaking her head at the hare in the Pail. 'He will have to be made into a pasty, as a warning to all evil-intending Long-Ears.'

The poor animal in the Pail could not have looked more wretched if he was to be made into a pasty there and then, and he cried in his terror, and the three little hares on the doorstep lifted up their small voices in sympathy.

The latter's wails were more than Joan's tender heart could stand.

'Poor little things!' she cried, looking first at the small Long-Ears and then at Ninnie-Dinnie. 'If he will promise to do what you want him, I'll set him free. 'Tis hard they should suffer for their wicked old daddy's wrongdoing.'

'It is,' responded the child in her gravest manner. 'And it is for their sakes more than his own that I am willing he should have his liberty. Ask him if he will consent to do all I told you.'

Joan, looking at the prisoner, repeated what Ninnie-Dinnie had said, and asked him whether he would have his freedom under those conditions.

The Long-Eared muttered something--what, she did not know, but the little maid seemed to understand, and she told her foster-mother that though the conditions were hard, he had promised to keep them if she would set him free from the Magic Pail.

'Then let us do it at once,' cried Joan, for the appealing eyes of those three little hares on the doorstep were more than she could endure.

The child came to her side, and offered her shoulder to enable the crippled woman to do her kind deed, and almost before Joan knew it she was at the door, with the Magic Pail gripped firmly in her hand, and found herself saying:

'I command thee, in the name of my little Ninnie-Dinnie an' the Magic Pail, never to come on our moors till the five hundred years are up. Remember, if you do, or try to hurt any of the dear Little People, they will compel thee to come into this here Pail, an' hand 'ee over to somebody who loves the Wee Folk as much as I do, an'

who will cut 'ee all to bits, an' put 'ee into a great lashing [35]

pasty for a miner's dinner.' [36]

The Skavarnak uttered a terrified howl, and Joan, looking down into the Pail, saw, not a hare, but a dreadful little hobgoblin, with ears as long as his ugly little body.

She dropped the Pail in her fright, and the ugly little creature sped away into the darkness, followed by the three wee hares, or hobgoblins, as no doubt they were.

Ninnie-Dinnie looked very happy when they had gone, and the Pail evidently shared her joy, for it was nearly white, and its embossed characters looked almost as beautiful as the little Pool's sunbeams.

The child would not go out on the moor for a long time after the Daddy Long-Ears was set free. She said she must stop at home and look after her Mammie Trebisken. But when October came, and the purple heath-bells had changed to tawny brown, and the bracken's green into orange and bronze, she began once more to give little wistful glances out over the great stretch of moorland.

One day--the very day of the same month she was brought to the cottage in the bramble-basket ten years before--Tom, noticing the longing glances, begged her to go with him a little way, and Ninnie-Dinnie, after asking the crippled woman if she could spare her, got ready to go.

'I thought you wouldn't want to take the Pail along with you now the Long-Eared can't hurt 'ee any more,' said Joan, as the child went to the dresser for the Pail.

'And yet I must take it,' she replied. 'What shall I bring you home?'

'Thyself, my beauty!' cried the woman. 'I'm safe, I reckon, in wanting to have only my Ninnie-Dinnie brought back to me. She is better than all the lark's music an' the Pool's shine, isn't she?' appealing to Tom, who nodded his head. 'An' we don't want no Daddy Skavarnak here no more, do we?'

'I should think not,' cried the miner.

'Mammie Trebisken's request was a downright sensible one this time, wasn't it?' he remarked to the little maid as they walked away from the cottage.

Ninnie-Dinnie did not answer, which somehow troubled him, and he looked at her curiously.

When the miner and the child had reached the place where she had caught the hare, they stopped and looked about them.

The sun had risen, and was making everything beautiful on the moor--the little pools and all. It was a perfect morning for so late in the autumn. The dwarf furze, now in blossom, was burning like gorse in springtime round the bases of the great grey carns; the bramble-vines were more beautiful than jewels, as they trailed in all their richness of colour over the boulders, and the gossamers lay thick on the turf and brown heather, and shone softly, as only gossamer can. Everything was very still, and there was not wind enough to stir even the blades of gra.s.s, nor was there anything on the wing save a seagull floating along on the blue air, and a few gorgeous Red Admirals hovering over their beloved nettles.

For ever so long Tom and the quaint little maid stood still, taking in all the wild, yet soft, beauty of the moors, until the latter broke the silence:

'I must hasten on to the bal now, my dear. You can stay here or go back to Mammie Trebisken, jest as thee hast a mind to.'

'Yes,' she said, with a start.

He glanced over his shoulder as he turned to go on his way, and, to his consternation, saw her put the Pail to her feet, and begin to speak in the same flute-like voice she had spoken to the Lark, the Pool, and the Hare, and the words were spoken to herself!

'Ninnie-Dinnie, give me thyself! Ninnie-Dinnie, give me thyself!' and the next minute he saw the little figure disappear into the Pail, which started at a rapid speed down towards his cottage.

He was too upset to go on to Ding Ding after that, and trembling like an aspen leaf, he followed in the track of the Pail; but whether he was Piskey-led, or what, he could not get home until dark, and when he got there, he found his wife sitting alone.

Three or four hours after Tom and Ninnie-Dinnie had left, Joan heard a little noise outside the cottage, so she told her husband when she related to him this strange story, and, looking up, saw, to her unspeakable amazement, the Pail a-walking down the road all by itself, as if it had legs, to the step of her door; and in another moment it had crossed the threshold and come to the fireplace where she was sitting gazing with all the eyes in her head at it coming! When it reached her feet it stopped, and looking into it she saw a very tiny Ninnie-Dinnie looking up at her with eyes full of love and pleading.

'Please, Mammie Trebisken, give me back myself!' she piped. 'Please, Mammie Trebisken, give me back myself!' and Joan took up the Pail in her crooked hands, and turning it over on its side, she cried:

'Ninnie-Dinnie, I give thee back thyself; an' come out of the Pail at once!' And Ninnie-Dinnie came out and stood before her, looking just as she had looked when she set out with Tom in the dawn. 'Whatever did 'ee let the Pail get hold of 'ee for?' asked Joan, when the child set the Pail in its place.

'Because you asked me to bring me back myself,' she said. 'And now I will sit at your feet and kiss your dear hands straight.'

Ninnie-Dinnie was very quiet the rest of the day, and when it drew towards evening and Tom's return, she asked if she might bring the costan to the hearthplace, as she felt so tired and sleepy.

Joan said she might, but was afraid it was too heavy for a d.i.n.ky little maid like her to carry.

The child said she would manage to bring it somehow, and she did; and when she had shaken up the moss and leaves in the costan she got into it, lay down, and was soon in a deep slumber.

Joan kept very quiet, so as not to disturb the poor little thing, and when she looked into the bramble-basket half an hour later, she saw something lying there that made her rub her eyes to see if she were dreaming.

In the place where Ninnie-Dinnie had lain down there was the most beautiful little creature it was possible to conceive. 'Its face,' as Joan afterwards told her husband, 'was ever so much sweeter to look at than a wild-rose, and its hair was softer and more silky than anything she had ever seen, even the head of the tom-t.i.t; and as for its mouth, it was far too tender and lovely even for her kissing. It had different clothes on, too, from what their little dear wore.' Joan said she could not tell what they were, only they were all goldy, like furze blossom.

Before she could get over her surprise at this little tiny thing in the bramble-basket, she heard a step outside, and thinking it was Tom come back from the mine, she looked up, and there in the doorway stood the same little bent old woman, her face hidden in a bal-bonnet, who had brought the child ten years before.

Before she could ask her what she wanted, the d.i.n.ky woman had glided like moor-mist over to the hearthplace, and was bending over the basket and singing:

'Give me my Ninnie, my dear little mudgeskerry; The time is now up For sweet-mead and cup, For the Small People's dance And the Nightrider's prance, The flute and the song, The horn and the dong, To welcome my dinnie, my little mudgeskerry!

'Give back my own d.i.n.ky, my little pednpaley; The music's begun, The frolic and fun, The big stars are alight, The full moon shines bright, The fairy lamps gleam, The Wee Folk all sing, "Come away to the feast, dear little pednpaley."'

'I can't give back my dear little Ninnie-Dinnie!' cried Joan, breaking in on the song, as it suddenly dawned upon her for what purpose the little old woman had come. 'Please don't ask me to do that. I have given back whatever else was asked of me gladly; but I can't--aw, I can't--part with that dear little thing down there in the costan.'

The strange little body took no notice of the interruption, but went on singing; and as she sang, the beautiful little creature in the bramble-basket opened its eyes and looked up at Joan with tender entreaty in them. That they were Ninnie-Dinnie's own little eyes looking up at her Joan did not for a moment doubt; and she could but see they grew more wistful as the queer little woman sang on:

'Oh, seek not to hinder my own little Ninnie, For Magic and Pail, And the Long-Eared's wail, The free song of the Lark, And the light in the dark, The d.i.n.ky herself-- The wee little elf!-- Have broken the spell o'er the dear little Ninnie!'

The Ninnie-Dinnie in the bramble-basket gave the crippled woman another look of entreaty as the voice of the singer died away. She understood that look so well, for she had appealed to her heart in that very same way when she had asked her to give back the Lark his music, the Pool its beams, and it made her feel now, as she felt then, that it was exceedingly selfish of her to want to keep what was not really her own, however desirable. And when the child, or whatever it was, met her gaze again she conquered her selfishness and resolved to give her back, whatever it cost her--'even,' she said, 'if it breaks my heart-strings.' And as the odd little woman in the mine-maiden's bonnet paused for a moment as if awaiting her will, in all the impetuosity of her generous nature she cried out: